her tired eyes have seen the most beautiful sunrises and sunsets
pinks yellows and purples, hues of what true happiness must be
she begins to see in the colour schemes of sunsets and sunrises
blind sighted by her own la vie en rose

his bright eyes see in shades of grey
clouded by the thunderstorms with the most beautiful lighting display
that his eyes have grown accustomed to

their perspectives disturbed by natural phenomena
not representative of their heart's bona fide notion
her tired eyes do not reflect the sunrise, she pulls up the blind relunctantly each day and night because she cannot be anything but the sunshine girl
his bright eyes, hidden by the storms that do not rage inside, but he concocts them nevertheless because no one wants to see a bright eyed boy